


Of Careful Steps and Reborn Dreams

by seventh_spider



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Female Peter Parker, Gen, Human Trafficking, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irondad, Irondad & Spiderson, NOT to be read as ship, Parent Tony Stark, Past Abuse, Powers come later, Tony Stark Has A Heart, anti starker, please keep in mind the violence, seriously, spiderson, there's violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventh_spider/pseuds/seventh_spider
Summary: It was Penny Parker’s fourth summer of being #94682...quiet, obedient, opinionless. Bought and sold by the richest men on the globe in the human trafficking organization “Le Vautour”, her dreams of freedom and trust of others had long slipped away. However, with the intervention of the Avengers, she is given a promise of a new life - and new troubles.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 22
Kudos: 65





	1. Introduction: Of Stables and Serial Numbers

Rays of sun beat down on the faded roof tiles of the forgotten stable, filling the stagnant air inside with an unbearable heat. Humidity clung to dusty work benches and wooden doors, dampening every surface with a sticky texture that clung to the skin and muddled the mind. Dripping from cobweb-draped rafters, precipitation beaded onto moldy floorboards and discarded tools. Out of sight in a corner of the building that was blocked by fallen debris, a teenage girl slept, the whine of cicadas providing a lullaby and the heat of the summer morning covering her like a stifling blanket. Curled against what used to be a feed bucket with a heavy book cradled in her still hands, her breaths came slowly and deeply.  Though a beetle crawled over her knee and a bead of sweat dripped down her bruised chin, she did not stir until the small wrist watch on her arm beeped four times.

_ One _ . Wake up. 

_ Two.  _ Time is up. You have to go back.

_ Three.  _ Penny, wake up.

_Four._ _Penny!_

With the watch’s fourth and final beep, the girl startled awake. Dreams that had flitted past her eyelids dissipated instantly, leaving her staring blankly at the rotting wood on the opposite wall. After a moment of contemplative silence, the girl groaned, tossing her head back and stretching. A sharp stab of pain from her back responded to the sudden movement, causing her to wince and drop a hand to her neck. 

Letting out a deep sigh, Penny pulled herself to her feet. Only about 15 minutes were left until she was required to be at the main house, preparing for the night ahead. Though it was only eleven in the morning, everything must be perfect... _ Penny and the other girls _ had to be perfect.

Wobbling slightly from dizziness as she crossed the unlevel flooring, Penny’s eyes scanned the room for an innocuous metal box. Brushing aside cobwebs, she dropped her book behind the rusted chest. The final  _ thud  _ that sounded when the book hit the floor was oddly reminiscent of a coffin lid slamming shut, and Penny’s heart sank in her chest. 

_ When would she see it again? Would she ever? _

The peak of summer had arrived, signaling the end of her time spent at The Ring’s ‘conditioning manor’. Twice a year, at the Summer and Winter Solstices, the girls who were returned or brought to the Ringmaster throughout the year were sold to the richest men from all over the world...the men who would pay the highest cost for them. The process of displaying the girls, the ‘trial and error’ of which girl would best fit each man, and the weeks of events together took approximately forty days. Forty days of pure hell.

The ringmaster of this manor house, Anson Sarrazin, was an absolute monster. Cruel, cold, untouchable. The only things stronger than his ego were his fists. Penny had only personally met him twice; both times, he had found something wrong with her appearance. Scars still lingered on her back and arms from both encounters. 

Shaking her head slightly to forget the haunting memories of those days, Penny slipped through the bars of an ancient gate and stepped out into the stifling warmth of the woods. England was not normally  _ this  _ hot in the summer, but this year was an extraordinarily odd one. Penny closed the door behind her and started a slow jog towards the main house.  _ Thirteen minutes left. _ As the time slipped by, her pace grew harried. The trek to the house from the old stable was a long one. Nestled on hundreds of acres filled with hunting land, polo fields, and newer stables was the behemoth of Russet Manor. Named for the odd red hue of the earth and walls of the very home, the Manor had remained in the hands of the Sarrazin lineage for centuries. Only recently, in the past fourteen years, had The Ring closed its slimy hands over the establishment.

As Penny left her solitary safety behind in the woods, a familiar sense of dread nestled itself in her heart. The bruises that encircled her wrists and spotted her legs ached anew, and the weight of her future seemed to rest on her shoulders, forcing her to bow her head. 

_ Who would catch sight of her this time...who would own her? _

Crossing the sunlit gardens, she stepped into the servant’s hallway of the manor house and joined the lines of girls waiting to be checked in. The sun winked off the heavy gold cuff on her left wrist, illuminating the serial number etched into the metal. 

_ 94682 _ .

Penny Parker, reduced to a number. Just another cog in the monstrous machine that had enveloped her entire life.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are very motivating, if you'd like to leave one.


	2. Of Champagne Flutes and Chains

_Right. Under. Up. Through. Pull._

Tony Stark’s calloused hands tightened his black tie in automatic, thoughtless motions, his mind preoccupied with spinning thoughts. Stepping back, he eyed himself in the mirror, judging the crisp lines of his suit with a sharp eye.

Behind him stood his fiancee, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together.

“You have to call me.”

The tension in the room wavered. Tony sighed.

“I’ll try. But you know how Sarrazin is. Paranoid and fucking ridiculous. Can’t guarantee he hasn’t installed recording devices in all the rooms.”

“Friday can scan for recording devices, as usual. Just call me, please.”

“I am bringing a housing unit for Friday...” Tony glanced at her in the mirror. “...but I’ve been on missions constantly in the past months. What’s so bad about this one?”

Instead of answering, Pepper stepped closer and hugged him from behind. Her head on his shoulder, they locked eye contact in the mirror. “Just keep that girl safe, whoever she is. If you need me, or you think she’d need to talk to me- for whatever reason- just call. Please.”

Tony sighed, his confident facade flickering and a hint of exhaustion creeping onto his face. “I don’t like this either.” He admitted. “It’ll take a month. Even longer to help all of them.”

“Do you think she’ll trust you enough to give you information about the organization?”

_She. The elusive “she”. Some victim, some girl who had endured such levels of hell that even the Avengers - who were practically experts in trauma - couldn’t truly comprehend. S_ _he, whoever Tony ‘purchased’, would be the key to taking down the entirety of Le Vautour. Preferably, she would have spent years in the human trafficking organization, knowing almost every aspect of the inner workings. However, this characteristic was rare. Most girls died within a year of being forced into the business._ _The girl they picked had to have a hint of a fighting spirit, enough to betray the secrets of those who had conditioned her into silence._

_Frankly, it seemed too much to ask._

_It would surely take weeks, months even, for the Avengers to build some rapport with her. But it had to be done. It had to be done in order to properly end Le Vautour. Otherwise, some perpetrators - and victims - would inevitably slip through the cracks._

“...I don’t know. I really don’t”

~*~

A single tear dripped down a powdered cheek and onto painted lips. Desperately, Penny clung to her glass of champagne...her anchor to reality. She blinked once and wiped the tear away angrily, gaze fixated on the stranger staring back at her from the mirror. The stranger was empty-eyed, dolled up in a tiny dress and stilettos, perfectly decorated with a ridiculously thick layer of makeup. _The perfect fucked up fantasy_. She couldn’t even see the bruises that marred her skin under the layers of foundation and setting spray. 

She squared her jaw. “Suck it up _,_ Penny.” The words came out as a hiss, yet another sign of the unwelcome emotions bubbling up in her heart.

_She’d been through this process eight times, but it felt like a million. Smile pretty. Flirt. Try not to cry or fight when a man escorts her back to his room for the first night of his “free trial”. If he decides in the end that she’s not his type, she just melds back into the group to be selected by a new man._

_Smile pretty. Flirt. Stay quiet. Say your “yes sir”s and “no sir”s. Don’t attract attention from the guards or officials or, God forbid, Sarrazin himself. Don’t invite punishment._

“Maybe no one will pick you.” A low voice from the doorway interrupted Penny’s miserable internal monologue.

Whirling around, Penny was greeted with the sight of a short blonde girl, decked out in a tight green dress. 

“I mean, statistically speaking...we’ve both had a hell of a run of it. We should be left alone one of these nights, right-?” The blonde rambled, only to be cut off when Penny slammed into her, both girls almost toppling to the floor with the force of the hug.

“Holy _shit_ !!” Penny yelped. “You’re _alive?_ It’s been two years, you fucking _angel_!”

The shorter girl shushed Penny quickly, though a grin lit up her face. “There’s guards right around the corner, Pen. Quiet.”

Penny nodded immediately, taking a reluctant step back from her friend. Though it remained unspoken, the list of rules etched in their minds from years of conditioning echoed in their thoughts. _Rule six: always remain quiet unless otherwise instructed. Being noisy is a trait of the rude and ungrateful._

“..are you sure you’re alive? I could be hallucinating.” Penny hadn’t laid eyes on Elsie in almost two years...after that long, a girl was just presumed dead.

“Definitely alive. Maybe not for long, but….”

Penny smacked her shoulder lightly. “Hush.”

“ _But,”_ The blonde pushed on, her voice dropping to a whisper “If anyone’s dying, it’ll be Sarrazin.”

Penny snorted. “Why?”

“The bastard had the audacity to tell me I looked too “stuck up” to be approachable. First of all, wow. Secondly...what makes you think I want to be approached, _sir_?” Elsie drug out the last syllable, her attention now captured by the flute dangling from Penny’s fingers. “Hey, where’d you get that champagne?”

Penny blinked, momentarily swept away by the whirlwind that was Elsie. “Oh- I stole it from the kitchens. Al decided not to notice it was missing.”

Al, the elderly cook, always looked out for Penny. Whether leaving little snacks for her when she was denied dinner or tending to her injuries after a punishment, he was never far away when she needed him.

Though a fond smile passed her lips, Elsie sighed. “ _God._ He always hated me.”

“Okay, he doesn’t absolutely hate you. If I recall, though, you called his son a ‘monstrous flying bag of shit’. Maybe a bit of animosity is called for.”

“...You can’t possibly think his son isn't a monstrous flying bag of shit though.”

“I didn’t say you were _wrong..._ ” Penny turned back to the mirror, twisting her identifying cuff on her wrist. “...I just think there could have been a better time and a place to say it than directly in front of Al.”

“Okay, but he needs to know how awful his son is. Honestly, who let that boy walk around-”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, sharp and purposeful. Through the squeak of leather and slight echo from a wooden sole, it was clearly identifiable as the stride of a guard.

Immediately, the mood dropped. The champagne flute was hidden, smiles were dropped, and anxiety rose.

“The guests have arrived.” A rough voice called from the hallway. “All those for sale line up for identification and control protocols.”

Penny locked eyes with Elsie. Their faces were pale now, fear once more winding its slimy hands over their shoulders. They moved into the hallway in unison. Hands brushed together, a silent goodbye, before they were raised in front of the girls to be cuffed.

Rough hands grabbed Penny, running over her sides, searching for possible weapons. The girl closed her eyes, lips trembling slightly. 

_I can’t do this._ The thought burst through her head, almost bursting out of her as a desperate scream. _Not again._

A necklace was dropped over her head. Dangling from the chain was a small gold pendant that Penny knew identified herself and her price. Then she was shoved forward, into her place beside two other girls in tiny dresses. Standing in silent ranks, they all faced the closed door to the Great Hall. Absently, Penny registered that the door was decorated with wooden carvings of grand hunting scenes, of deer being slaughtered in front of a crowd filled with pure, evil glee. A muffled sob echoed from somewhere in the group. No one moved to comfort the girl. Boisterous laughter erupted from behind the door, along with the clinking of glasses. Two guards stepped forward, the guns strapped to their sides a warning to behave. They gripped the ornate handles of the massive doors, turning their scathing gazes on the group of terrified souls huddling in the corridor.

“Now,” One guard cooed mockingly. “Be _good girls_.”

And the doors swung open.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up- this chapter is definitely far shorter than later ones will be. I hope you enjoyed it though!
> 
> Comments are always inspiring, if you'd like to leave one.


	3. Of Quick Falls and Bathroom Tiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Please mind the tags on this chapter...and pretty much for the whole story. I'm not going into anything graphic, but there are a lot of references to some shitty stuff. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Silence hung like a thick fog over the interior of the Audi as it rolled past the gilded front gates of Russett Manor. Outside, the dying glow of the evening sun flared across the horizon, spilling red and gold hues over the treetops like blood from a fallen soldier. As the oppressing heat of the day gave way to the chill of evening, an expectant hush fell over the grounds. Hands wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles blazed white, Tony kept his eyes fixed on the white paved road in front of him. _Pepper was right._ He thought absently. _There’s something off about this mission_.

Beside him, James Barnes shifted uncomfortably. “Stark.”

“What?” 

“It might be better…” The soldier paused and cleared his throat before continuing “It might be _ever so slightly better_ if you didn’t look like you would rather strap yourself to a ticking time bomb then be here. Y’know, you’re supposed to enjoy this.”

Tony snorted condescendingly. “Yeah, right. I totally forgot. Human trafficking. Totally my thing. Pure joy is radiating out of my soul right now. Can’t you see it, Barnes?”

It was quiet again.

Finally, Tony tossed his head to the side, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get in character when we actually get to the damn house. Don’t understand why Sarrazin decided to pick a place with a fucking fourteen mile long drive. Honestly, the money he probably wastes on transportation alone-”

“Y’know,” Barnes interrupted, gesturing with his metal arm towards the luxurious gardens the two were cruising past “this whole place reminds me of the “parties” Hydra officers dragged the soldier to back in the seventies...there were a lot of scared girls there.”

Tony blinked, lost for words for once in his life. _Maybe this wasn’t the best time for sarcasm._ He settled with a solid “Oh. _Christ._ ”

“A little part of me always wanted to help them,” Barnes continued, his voice low and rough, “But I never could. Which is why we can’t fuck this up.”

The plan was simple. Tony and Barnes would pick a girl, anyone who fulfilled some of the requirements for their mission. They couldn’t risk saving more than one of the girls. _The more people sharing a secret, the higher the risk of someone making a deadly mistake._ Tony would be the egotistical billionaire, sleazy and highly interested in making high-bid deals for lives. His bodyguard was the Winter Soldier, more interested in the booze than anything else.

“I am aware.” Tony responded icily. About to mention how Barnes was insulting his intelligence by constantly reviewing mundane details, Tony glared at the man from the corner of his eye, only stopping a moment before the biting words escaped. In their two years working together since the fiasco with the Accords, Tony had never seen Barnes so viscerally upset. Perched stiffly on the leather seats, the soldier’s jaw was set and his eyes glared sharply from beneath his strong brow bone. His hand rested carefully on his jacket pocket, which Tony knew contained more than one weapon.

“Seriously. Possessive.” The soldier stated once more.

Tony nodded silently, the weight of what he had to do pressing on chest and constricting his breath. He would _never_ hurt this girl. But he had to pretend that it was his intention, pretend to be cut from the same cloth as the rest of the twisted millionaire attendees. 

The timeline of Tony’s life was marked with countless events in which he’d masked his true emotions and embodied who he was not; what was one more added to the list?

Conversation lulled. As the Audi rounded a final corner, the Russett manor house slipped into sight, stealing the breath from those unfortunate enough to lay eyes on the structure. Hues stolen from the sunset radiated from curves of turrets while dripping splashes of shiny color reflected over every glass and metal surface. Dazzling hues of amber, scarlet, and rosewood were thematic. Countless vehicles lined the front walkway: Aston Martins, Maseratis, Bugattis, Audis. Even these bright, flashy cars paled in comparison to the brilliant gleam of the house itself. 

Gravel crunched under tires as the Audi pulled up to the front of the manor house, tearing the two Avengers from their feverish reveries. With one quick gear shift, the car was parked and Tony and Bucky shoved the doors open.

Slipping his glasses over his nose, Tony straightened his suit jacket and donned his persona. He slammed the door behind him, tossing the keys to the valet without a backwards glance. Barnes followed silently in his footsteps, a ghost in a black suit.

With brazen confidence, Tony strode up the front steps and through the open double door, stepping into a scene that was unfortunately familiar to him. The air was smoky, filled with an intoxicating medley of cologne, cigars, and alcohol. Suit clad men milled through the entry rooms, clutching sweating glasses of alcohol. Light filtered through stained glass windows, painting newly refinished herringbone floors with psychedelic streaks of green and blue.

A bald man approached him instantly, a barely contained grin spreading across his face. “Dr. Stark! What a pleasant surprise! You’ve always turned down our previous invitations.”  
  


“Well,” Tony smirked down at him. “I consider myself to be a man of change and personal progress, especially when it comes to my...companions.” He allowed the word to hang in the air, its connotation heavy and ugly.

The bald man gave a short, dull laugh that spoke of his rotting heart. “Of course, of course. Now, I’m Alfred Calbert, one of the organizers of this wonderful event. If you’ll be needing me, just ask a butler for me by name. I’ll always be glad to help our most…” He paused, as though searching for the right words “...influential guests.”

_Ah. There it was._

It had taken a total of four seconds for the man to prove exactly where his priorities laid, and for Tony to confirm his expectations as to what his hosts thought of him- rich, arrogant, powerful.

_Excellent._

Tony could play that game until his very last day on earth. To him, the manner in which the most arrogant men bowed before his wealth was, quite frankly, both fascinating and embarrassing. The men of Le Vautour would go to any end, no matter how cruel, unjust, or humiliating, to seek Tony’s approval and money. 

Tony allowed a slow, dark smile to grace his face, reveling in the way the sweating criminal shuddered under his gaze. “Of course. How could I ever expect less?” 

_He’d enjoy burning this hellhole to the ground._

  
  


~*~

Penny marched dutifully in the footsteps of her sisters, eyes cast towards the floor. A wave of whistles and jeers took to the air as men turned to watch the girls parade into the room. Breaths rattled in Penny's chest- sharp, shallow gasps that seemed to tear at her very soul. 

Everything was just _too much_. Noise roared through the Great hall, amplified by the 16th century vaulted ceilings. Every added voice and musical note seemed to latch onto the heels of Penny’s shoes, trying to drag her into a panicked frenzy. Sparkling chandeliers lit the room with a diamond glow, dazzling the eyes and exposing prey to their predators. 

Penny missed the dark. In the shadows, she could hide from leering gazes. Whether young or old, strong or withered, all the guests wore a common expression of unfiltered greed.

Already used to the game, a few veteran customers reached out and yanked girls they found attractive to their sides. Penny ducked her head, trying to avoid attention from these men who often knew no limits. _She couldn’t decide which was worse; the unknown of new guests, or the promise of unfiltered, confident torture at the hands of those who knew exactly how to hurt a girl._

The end of the main aisle approached rapidly. Penny started to relax. _She’d get a chance to approach whoever she chose...someone who looked less terrifying._ Just as a refreshments table came into reach, a rough hand wrapped around her leg and wrenched it backwards. Falling, Penny instinctively threw out a hand to catch herself as she hit the floor- an action that was clearly a mistake. An ugly cry tore out of her when she hit the floor, shockwaves of pain radiating through her wrist and knees.

_Fuck. Rule Six. Silence. A broken rule only two minutes in._

Laughter rang out, two people high fiving to her right. Penny blinked back tears of humiliation as she tried to scramble to her feet. Blind panic fueled her; she couldn’t turn around and risk eye contact with the man who had dragged her down. Just as she managed to sit up, the firm heel of a dress shoe was placed on her bare back, shoving her once more towards the floor.

“Awww darling,” A voice crooned, characterized by a strong southern American drawl, “Did’ja get yourself into a little bit of trouble?”

Penny stayed motionless and quiet, her nose pressed to the flooring. _It smelled of new finish and old liquor,_ she absently noted. 

The heel pressed down harder, pushing the very air from her lungs. “Don’t stay silent, little girl. ‘Less you want to be quiet ‘cause your mouth is too full-”  
  


“Come _on_ , William. It’s been two minutes.” Another voice, also southern, rang out. “I want to drink without hearing allusions to your dick. If ya want her that bad, take her to your room. But, shit, get that away from us. And be back soon or you’re gonna miss dinner.”

The foot was removed. Gratefully, Penny sucked in a deep breath and waited for her next instructions.

“Well? Get lost.” The aforementioned man snarled from above her. “You’re not entertaining enough for all that.”

Penny needed no other encouragement. She scrambled to her feet, pulling the tiny straps of her dress back over her shoulders. As she stumbled away, it wasn’t clear whether the shake in her step was from fear or her high heels.

~*~ 

Pink sparkly nails glinted on the rim of the porcelain toilet bowl as nausea bubbled in Penny’s stomach. The floor tiles pressed checkerboard imprints into the teen’s skin as she curled against the floral wallpaper and stared miserably at the toilet water.

_Avoiding her duty. She was avoiding her duty. She’d be punished for this._ **_She was avoiding her duty._ **

The thoughts repeated through her head, giving her no peace even in her short moment of calm.

_She just couldn’t do it._ It had only been a meager three weeks since Penny was returned to Sarrazin by her last owner: a terrifying man named Steven Westcott who hadn’t let her sleep in peace for five months. Memories of his unbidden hands on her skin constantly floated just beyond Penny’s line of sight, making her wonder if his presence would ever truly leave her. So, when an old, bearded man approached her tonight and wrapped a tight arm around her hips, she’d panicked. Cried. Out of pure surprise at her _human_ reaction, the man had loosened his grip. And Penny had fled. She had fled to this bathroom in a far hallway of the main house. It was so distant from the Great Hall, in fact, that the din of voices and violin music was barely a whisper to her. Penny allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, her mind slipping away from reality for a moment. _Maybe if she envisioned freedom hard enough, it would come to fruition._

The restless still reigned once more. A ceiling fan desperately pushed around damp summer air and the gilded faucet dripped, but the din of humanity was gone. Eventually, Penny’s limp hand dropped onto the tile and she listed to the side. Sleep on the bathroom floor was not ideal, but at least the room’s lock provided the illusion of safety from the manor’s residents. Instead of being left to peace and quiet, however, she was soon disturbed by a sharp knock on the door. It was undoubtedly a male knock, heavy and impatient. Penny bolted upright, adrenaline surging through her veins and bleary eyes flashing to the door. Struggling slightly, she pulled herself to her feet and reached for the doorknob. It took far too much effort to twist the lock and pull the door open, and unbelievably more effort to not scream upon seeing the face in the door.

Tall and blonde, with a wispy beard and a cold, firm face, Mr. Steven Westcott blocked the door. A limp girl dangled from his lecherous hands. Penny choked, her brain short circuiting for a minute. She simply couldn’t process what she was seeing. _It couldn’t be real...it just couldn’t. He was gone. He had to be gone._

“Pretty Penelope!” The man greeted, gross delight filling his face. “How have you been, my dear?” 

Without a second thought, he dropped the unconscious young woman in his hands to the ground, stepping closer to Penny. 

The teenager glanced down at the face of the girl on the floor. _Her name was Anna. She was twenty and from France. She liked chocolate ice cream and sparkling cider._ The useless facts sparked in Penny’s brain, dissipating just as fast as they came.

“What did you do to her?” The words slipped out of her mouth before Penny could stop them. “...sir.”

Westcott cleared his throat, drawing closer to Penny. His hands, long and cold, wrapped around her shoulders and tried to distract her. “Now, don’t be like that darling. I’ve quite missed you over these past few weeks...We have some catching up to do. I think I’ve changed my mind regarding you…” His hands dropped lower, to her chest. “I shouldn’t have sent you back here. Your place is forever with me.”

Absently, Penny noticed that she was crying. The wall was firm against her back, the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the floor beside Anna.

“Whaddya say?” Westcott pulled himself against Penny, his breath bathing her face in a foul scent.

Choking on horror, Penny barely managed her required “Of course, sir” before the man was ripped off of her.

Everything happened too fast. Westcott was spun around, his face meeting a fist that snapped his nose and sent blood spurting onto the carpet. Westcott howled and stumbled backwards drunkenly, his hand wrapping around his bloody nose protectively. With watery eyes, he glared up at his attacker. Broad shouldered with long dark hair, a man in a jet black suit stared him down, ice blue eyes promising more pain if Westcott moved again. 

“What the fuck is your problem dude?” The blond sniveled.

“My problem is that she’s already taken. You’re putting your hands on another man’s property.”

Penny’s breath caught in her throat. Her brain raced to recall who had talked to her that evening. _The old man from earlier who she’d run from?_

Westcott scoffed, standing back up to his full height. Blood continued to ooze from his nose. “By who...you? Who do you think you are? Some new hotshot who thinks he can come in here and stir shit up? Well I’ll clue you in on something, _bud_. You don’t fuck with me.”

A wane smile pulled at the lips of the dark haired man and the hairs on the back of Penny’s neck prickled _Something was very, very wrong with this man._

“Oh, me? I didn’t buy her. She-” He jabbed a thumb towards Penny “-belongs to Tony Stark. Does the name ring a bell, dumbass?”

Westcott paled. “No-”

“Yeah.” Voice soft, the brunet cocked his head to the side “And if she had struck my fancy, I don’t think you’d want to get within a ten foot radius of her anyways.” The man flexed his hand.

His. Metal. Hand.

Some guy named Tony Stark...and a terrifying man with a metal arm. 

Far too late, it all clicked in Penny’s head. _She couldn’t even run._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh and BAMF Bucky enters the scene! I i v e for him.
> 
> Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I'm fairly sure I re-wrote this damn thing about 16x over, and it's unfortunately still nowhere near the length I wanted it to be. Was I tempted to continue it? Yes. Did I love where I ended the chapter? Also yes.
> 
> If you could, let me know what y'all thought about the chapter length in the comments... should it be longer? Shorter? Honestly, I have no idea.
> 
> Anyways, I loved all of your lovely comments on the last chapter; thanks for being awesome :)


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